


A Lack of Marks Left

by admiraleinstein



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Gen, Some after death but before Monmouth stuff i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-01
Updated: 2015-05-01
Packaged: 2018-03-26 14:22:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3853978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/admiraleinstein/pseuds/admiraleinstein
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Invisibility always seems exhilarating until experienced first hand. Noah Czerny would have loved to be invisible just a few years ago. He would have loved to slip out of class unnoticed, to admire others up close without them flinching away, to observe the world without leaving a mark. But it was the lack of marks he’d left that angered him now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Lack of Marks Left

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry for this honestly.

Invisibility always seems exhilarating until experienced first hand. Noah Czerny would have loved to be invisible just a few years ago. He would have loved to slip out of class unnoticed, to admire others up close without them flinching away, to observe the world without leaving a mark. But it was the lack of marks he’d left that angered him now. If only he had made a lasting impression on somebody- anybody, really- he might be just satisfied enough to go about his death in peace. But Noah couldn’t have predicted this coming. He couldn’t have known to live while he still could. Noah knew this, yet somehow he couldn’t shake the anger he felt toward himself for failing to leave something in his wake.

Sure, his family grieved, but they went about their days as if he’d never been there at all. His mother still hosted cocktail parties and book clubs and his father still sat in the corner with a drink and admired his mother’s handy work from afar. He had always been a businessman and simply that- he tried to relieve himself from all things social whenever possible, certainly one of the only traits that he and his son had in common.

His sisters, though, would stop by his room regularly. The younger of the two would curl up in his bed, tucked tight in the corner, and tell him about her day. She, of course, was unaware of how he spread himself out next to her and listened closely, spitting out sarcastic comments and brief speeches that were meant to be reassuring but never reached her ear. Noah’s older sister, on the other hand, would step into the middle of the room and wrap her arms around herself, careful not to touch anything. Not once did she speak, only glanced around as if she could feel his presence but couldn’t quite pinpoint a location. He called out to her, invited her to take a seat and stay a while, paced back and forth to remain in her line of sight, anything in hopes of letting her know that he was there and he was alright. He reached out for her hand once. She flinched and held it up to her eyes for a moment, but only shivered and quickly saw her way out.

But Whelk… Whelk was fun to mess with. Maybe _fun_ wasn’t exactly the word he was looking for- amusing, satisfying, or fulfilling, perhaps, were much better descriptors. Noah would blow the pages of his textbooks and knock things off of his shelves. Sometimes he would dial his old cd player to songs that they used to listen to in the Mustang or retrieve a picture of the two of them and leave it on his desk for when he returned. Occasionally, Noah lost his cool.

He would shout and cry and get up in his best friend’s face. “You _murdered_ me, Whelk! I was _nothing_ but loyal to you and you _bashed my head in_! Do you _ever_ stop and think about that for just one second? _Ever_?” But when his angry rants went unnoticed, he settled for slamming the door behind him simply to get a scare out of him.

This was how Noah lived out his death. Come to think of it, it wasn’t so different from his life. Attend his mother’s parties for show, share glances with his dad that obviously read ‘ _I don’t want to be here_ ’, listen to his sisters’ problems, be their shoulder to cry on, try to get his best friend to _really_ understand him, rinse, repeat.

He wasn’t sure how much longer he could go about this. Eventually he’d have to have to find someone who could see him, dead or alive, and make something out of the nothing he’d been given. But for the moment, the pain was the only thing allowing him to feel remotely human and he’d cherish it for as long as he could.

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you'd like to yell at me I'm admiraleinstein on tumblr or just yelling at me here is cool too. I fully accept any blame.


End file.
